Chapter Three: Breakfast
I awoke to the sound of birdsong. I rolled out of my ditch. Coughing, I searched for the source of the song. It's unfortunate, but might is right. I changed to my dog shape. All at once, my senses were assaulted by an intensification of smell and sound, my eyes no longer able to see the magnificent reds, oranges and yellow or the mid August sunrise.
Among the new smells I could now sense was one I had grown to love. My lips pulled back from my teeth as I grinned. I wasn't the only one with the local fowl on my mind.
Twenty minutes later, as I hobbled down a half forgotten country lane, I wondered to myself why foxes had to be so damn... well, foxy. They fought back like a bitch. This prompted another wolfish grin to slash my face as I contemplated the double pun.
"He's still got it!" My words came out as short, happy barks, but the message was still there, I was sure of it.